


Protector In The Shadows

by InTheShadows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, HBP AU, M/M, Panic Attacks, Pre-Slash, Protective Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTheShadows/pseuds/InTheShadows
Summary: Draco has his first panic attack on his first night back at Hogwarts. Or, rather, he has his first panic attack of theschool year. He has been plagued with them since summer. Ever sinceHemoved in. After all, wouldn't you have panic attacks if you knew you were going to be dead by the end of the school year? He isn'tPotterafter all.But Draco is going to discover help from an unlikely source. One he never expected. Because who would believe the Boogeyman is there to help?





	Protector In The Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> If some of this sounds familiar to anyone, that's because you most likely read The Dark Guardian. I reuse some of the same ideas in here. Actually, now that I think about it, this could almost be an AU of that where Voldemort exists. One version anyways, because I would write it differently, if I wasn't focusing an Draco. What a thought...

Draco has his first panic attack on his first night back at Hogwarts. Or, rather, he has his first panic attack _of the school year_. He has been plagued with them since summer. Ever since _He_ moved in. All his life, he has been told about the Glorious Dark Lord. The one who will make the Wizarding UK great again. Who will fix what is wrong with their society. No more mudbloods and blood traitors. Power will be with the Purebloods, where it belongs.

No one ever told him the Glorious Dark Lord was actually a monster.

The first time he had seen the Dark Lord, it took all of his Malfoy training not to flee in horror and disgust. And terror. He can admit, if only to himself, that there had been quite a bit of terror involved. Draco had kept his head down, eyes on the floor, kneeling, the entire time. This? This monster is the one who is suppose to lead them into a bright new era? This monster is the one he has been admiring his whole life?

No wonder Potter has always been so disgusted with him. He is disgusted with himself.

Still, he was motionless as the Dark Mark was burnt into his arm. He did not flinch or cry out at the intense, foreign magic that settled beneath his skin. He was silent and unmoving as he was given his assignments. He made no protests or complaints. He walked back to his room with dignity, head held high. _Then_ he had his first panic attack.

Now back at Hogwarts, the reality of what he has to try hits him all at once. Try, because he knows the chances of him succeeding are a snow fall's chance in July. He knows he is expected to fail. How can even hope to accomplish what the Dark Lord has been attempting for years? But he also knows he is expected to try. His mother's life, as well as his own, his on the line.

At least his father is safe in Azkaban. Or as safe as one can be in that nightmare of a place. Safe from the Dark Lord in any case. He also has Potter to thank for that. He has Potter to thank for this entire situation. If he had not gone off on another of his hair brained adventures, none of this would have happened. Then again, he went for family. That much he knows. And Merlin knows Draco would do anything for family. He _is_ doing anything for family.

He is torn between hate and understanding and it infuriates him. He has been rivals with Potter ever since he chose the Weasel over him. But now that he sees what Potter is up against, what he is fighting for... It makes his hate that much harder.

At the feast, the other boy had a haunted look about him. As if he has seen too many horrors to comprehend and everything else is a blur now. He can relate. What is the threat of detentions and House points when you have a madman after you? How can classes matter when you have endured torture and death? What else matters when lives are on the line and only you can save them? He never thought he had anything in common with Potter, but now he wonders.

He had sat through the feast, looking at his classmates, laughing and joking. He looked at the Headmaster in his brightly colored robes and twinkling eyes. He looked around at the happiness and joy and knows he has been ordered to end it all.

As soon as he is back in his dorm room, he pulls his curtains shut, wards his bed, pulls his knees to his chest and starts hyperventilating. How is he suppose to sit beside his fellow students, day by day, knowing he has been ordered to get Death Eaters into the school? Knowing it will be the death of most of them. How can he sit through meals, knowing the man he is suppose to kill is watching over them cheerfully?

He claws at his legs helplessly as he tries to calm down. He hears a voice in his head, one that sounds remarkably like his father, telling him to pull himself together. A Malfoy is always cool and collected. A Malfoy would never do something as distasteful and _common_ as have a panic attack. Those are for the weak. Malfoys are never weak.

It doesn't help.

The Malfoy legacy doesn't mean much at this point. He is going to be dead by the end of the year. Dead, by the Dark Lord they are suppose to proudly serve. This is what the Malfoy legacy has brought him. Not honor and glory. Death.

A violent shudder runs through him as he works on controlling his breathing. Even with the number he has had so far, he still hasn't managed to cope with them well. He would feel pathetic and weak if there was any room for that beside the pure terror that stalks his days. He _does_ feel pathetic and weak, but everything else is secondary anymore to the fear.

How does Potter deal with this? If rumors are to be believed, he has been battling the Dark Lord since he was eleven. How does he go on? Is it a sign of Gryffindor courage? Or just a sign of stupidity? No, not stupidity. Potter would never have survived this long if he were truly stupid, Granger or no. Nor is it naivety. Sheer dumb luck, perhaps?

Whatever it is, Draco wishes he had some now. Even if it meant he was more lion than snake.

“So much fear, young one. They expect so much, don't they?” a voice asks.

Draco jerks back, hitting his back on his headboard. No one should be able to see or hear him. His wards made sure of that. But his curtains are still shut tight. He grabs his wand, knuckles turning white. His hand shakes. “Who's there?” he tries to ask threateningly, but his voice shakes as much as his hand is. Pathetic.

A figure seems to melt from the shadows at the foot of his bed. Dark skin and dark hair and golden eyes. Strangely enough, the figure reminds him of Severus. But this isn't his Godfather. He would have no reason to do something like this. “Calm child,” he says instead of answering.

“I am not a child!” Draco shouts angrily. The effect is offset by the fact he still isn't breathing normally.

“Nor an adult. I do not deal with adults. By time they have reached that stage, all true potential has been lost. But children, ah, _they_ still have the ability and the faith to see what is not there.”

“Stop talking in riddles. Who are you?”

“I?” He raises an eyebrow, “I am Pitch Black,” he gives a bow, “the Boogeyman.”

“Impossible,” Draco spits.

Pitch laughs. He throws his head back and laughs darkly. “Oh how wizarding children amuse me. Dragons and werewolves and potions and spells exist. But the Boogeyman? I am simply regarded as a fairy tale. It is impossible for me to exist, even in a world of impossibilities. Yet here I stand,” he motions to himself, “What do you say to that?”

“You could be someone wearing a glamour or an illusion.” Or a test.

“I assure you I am very real. Nor am I part of those so called Death Eaters you have been forced to join.”

Draco jumps, not expecting that. His breath had been slowly evening out, but now it picks up again. What does he know? _How_ does he know? What is he going to do about it? “I don't know what you are talking about,” he declares.

Pitch chuckles darkly again. “I am the Boogeyman,” he repeats, “I am the Nightmare King, Ruler of Fear. I can sense fear as well as control it. And fear has been stalking this community for quite some time. I admit, you are the first to have such a pure concentration of it, in this school, but there are others. The Death Eaters carry it around them like a cloak, whether they bring it with them or feel it themselves. The children of this school are not much better, no matter how they hide it. Fear is a powerful thing.”

Oh how true a statement. Draco has found just how true, these past months. “What do you do with it?”

“In simple terms, feed off of it, such as an incubus feeds off of sexual energy. In more complex terms, I harness the power of fear, distributing it where it is necessary, keeping it alive, guiding and guarding it. Simply put, I _am_ fear. Your dementors cannot hold a candle to the true power and control I have.”

“And why are you here?”

“No child should fear of their life. I guard those who need it. I admit, you are not in the normal category of those who need my protection, but that does not matter. You are now one of mine.”

“I belong to no man!” True, the Master he serves can no longer be called human. He is a demon, a monster. Draco lets out a hysterical giggle. A monster. The one who is suppose to give him glory is actually a monster and the monster is the one who wants to help him. The stress and the irony is too much. He can't stop laughing. Everything is too much. He laughs and he shivers and he thinks he might be crying now, but he can't be sure. It is all too much.

Pitch comes around his bed to sit beside him. He pulls Draco into his arms. He goes willingly. He should resist. He should pull away. He should be strong and deal with it. But he can't anymore. Not when someone is finally ready to hold him and care for him. He doesn't even care about the price right now. How very un-Slytherin of him. But he has reached his limit. He is done.

Pitch doesn't say anything, doesn't give any useless reassurances. He simply holds him, occasionally carding his fingers through Draco's hair. When Draco is finally able to stop, Pitch doesn't let go, but instead hands him a chocolate frog.

He looks at the Boogeyman in surprise.

Pitch shrugs gracefully. “I have found chocolate helps a great deal. Plus,” he smirks, “some of my children here have quite the sweet tooth.”

“Who are they?”

“I never give names, but they are the ones who need me the most. The ones who cannot protect themselves. The ones who need someone to care for them because no one else will.”

Draco raises an eyebrow at him.

“The abused,” he answers plainly.

“Abused?” he asks, disgusted.

“There are more here than you would imagine and not all from the Muggle community either. Not all families hold that children are a blessing.”

Draco _is_ disgusted. For all his parent's fault, he never doubts that they love him. They may seem cold to the rest of the world, but he knows he is loved. He can't imagine otherwise. He bites the head off of his frog and chews thoughtfully. He doesn't want to believe it, but naivety has never been one of his faults. He is a Slytherin for a reason. That doesn't mean the idea doesn't repulse him any less.

Pitch takes his wrist and slips something on it. A bracelet. He can't tell what material it is made out of, only that is is soft against his skin.

“This is my mark,” Pitch tells him and Draco flinches at the word choice, “None can see it unless they also bear one. It is nigh indestructible and will summon me if you are in true need.”

Draco nods.

“I cannot do everything, but I will do what I can. And no matter what, I will never abandon you. I _never_ abandon my children.” He stands and tucks the blankets around him, as if he were a small child. He remembers his Mother doing the same thing, when he was young. “Now sleep child. I promise, no nightmares tonight.”

Draco closes his eyes, feeling strangely calm. If Pitch can control fear, can he take it away as well as give it? It seems likely.

“And child, you should make sure your Dark Lord doesn't notice the bracelet. I imagine it would raise some awkward questions,” he warns.

Draco opens his eyes then, startled, but Pitch is already gone. Make sure the Dark Lord doesn't see it? But he said... Oh. Well, there is more than one way to give information. And he didn't technically give a name either. He thinks about those implications as he falls asleep.

It is the best sleep he has had in weeks.

.

.

.

To say things got better after that would be a lie. They didn't. Draco was still a mess of nerves and fear inside. And outside frankly. He knows he is slipping. His Malfoy mask, which he use to be so proud of, which he wore daily, is cracking. He is falling apart and it is noticeable. He has a hard time concentrating in class, he startles too easily, his sleep is restless. Merlin, he doesn't even have the energy to fight with Potter anymore.

He is drowning.

But he is not alone.

True to his word, Pitch does not abandon him. He visits him daily, if only for a few moments. He takes away his fear and calms his trembling limbs. He doesn't say much, but he is a steady presence. The only time he feels normal anymore is when Pitch is with him.

The irony still makes him laugh hysterically if he isn't careful. The monster under the bed is actually a protector. The master of fear inspires courage to carry on instead of hiding from the world. He is a shelter of calm and strength, rather than a shadow of terror. When he isn't being creepy that is. Of course, it is probably impossible to be the Boogeyman and not be at least _somewhat_ creepy.

Still, he is there for him. He is there when he receives the news, via The Daily Prophet, that his Father has broken out of Azkaban. Which means that now _both_ of his parents are in danger of being killed.

He is there when he tries to curse Dumbledore via a necklace and Katie Bell gets hurt instead. She ends up in St Mungo's and he feels sick.

He is there when the Weasel is poisoned and almost dies. He feels oddly detached, not happy like he should. He's just a blood traitor after all and Potter's precious friend beside.

He is there for the panic attacks and the nightmares and the depression. He just feels numb.

When he stops to think about it, he can't believe what he has turned into. No more confidentially strutting down the halls. No more lording his superiority over those supposedly beneath him. No more ruling Slytherin as the untouchable Ice Prince. He is a shadow of his former self.

It doesn't help that Potter is constantly stalking him now either. He wants to hate him. Oh how he wants to hate him. A good, clean hate. Nothing complicated or messy, just a pure, dry cut emotion. But he can't. He can't because he is the Chosen One. He is the Gryffindor Golden Boy. He is the Wizarding World's only hope.

He is Draco's only hope.

Potter has always taken up some of Draco's thoughts, ever since he first met him. Even before he knew his name. He wanted to know him from the start. He is use to it. Now he takes up so much more. Between everything else – the panic and the fear and the planning – Potter is there. He has always been there. He has been a constant in Draco's life since he was eleven. Now, when he is starting to pull away from that, Potter is more determined than ever to attach himself to him. At least he knows one person will remember him when he's dead. Two, technically, but Pitch isn't human, so he counts differently. Three if his Godfather is to be trusted. He would count his parents, but they will be dead with him.

The Malfoy family, dead because of their own Master. Oh how people will cheer.

He knows, no matter what he does, he is going to die. It is inevitable. It is expected. It is planned. He fights against it, but he knows it is true.

And then Potter confronts him in the girl's loo and changes everything.

.

.

.

Draco trembles as he leans against the sink. Tears drip from his eyes and he does nothing to stop them. What is the point? What is the point of anything anymore? Why even bother to try? He already knows he is going to fail. Why not stop now before more people end up hurt?

Malfoys do not give up, an inner voice tells him, but he ignores it. There is nothing great about being a Malfoy. Not anymore. All the name brings is misery and pain. And even if it didn't, he hasn't felt like a Malfoy since the Mark was burnt into his arm. He hasn't felt much at all, really. For all his fear and anxieties, the world is numb. Nothing seems real anymore except death.

It is only when he looks up does he see him. Potter. Perfect Potter. Prince Potter. The Wizarding World's Golden Boy. Standing behind him. Staring as if he is some strange creature to gawk at. Judging him. Suddenly, without warning, all he feels is anger. Not fear, not terror. Anger. Rage runs through his veins as he lifts his wand. Maybe this is it. This is the way out.

Either they will expel him or throw him into Azkaban. One is a quicker death than the other, but one is also less painful. After all, why would the Dark Lord take the time and resources to rescue him when he could just let him rot. It is a death sentence, he knows, but he no longer cares. He is done. Something in him snaps and he is  _ done _ . “Cur-” he begins, but stops just as suddenly as he began. He freezes as if someone hit him with a stunner. He can't move. Can't even breathe.

Because there, wrapped innocently around Potter's wrist is a bracelet. A very familiar, black bracelet.

Draco leans against the sink, fight gone. There is only one explanation and two possibilities of why Potter of all people is wearing one of Pitch's bracelets. Neither are very reassuring. Either Potter is as terrified as Draco is and needs support – which is disturbing for a number of reasons – or he is one of Pitch's children. The abused.

Potter is staring at him again. He had raised his wand when Draco had, a spell clear on his lips. But he had also stopped when Draco had, leaving a clear view of his wrist. His eyes follow Draco's now to where he is staring. Now it is Potter's turn to freeze.

“Malfoy?” he questions slowly, “what are you staring at?”

“What the fuck Potter?” he asks instead.

“What do mean Malfoy,” he spits, “you were the one who was about to use an Unforgivable, not me.”

“You can't be one of Pitch's!” Draco tells him vehemently.

That stops Potter. For all of three seconds. “Neither can you,” he sneers back, “Don't tell me Mummy never loved you. Or that Daddy expected too much. Not after years of 'My Father will hear about this!',” he mocks.

“ What?” he mocks back, “Prince Potter didn't get enough toys growing up? Not the right types of sweets?” He feels alive again. Blood coursing through him, anger flowing.  _ He feels alive _ . Maybe he shouldn't have been avoiding Potter all year. Maybe this is the problem. Potter has always been there, is it any wonder his life went to shite after he cut the other boy out?

“Fuck you Malfoy,” Potter says slowly. Dangerously. This is a side of Potter he has never seen before. This is why he is a feared opponent of the Dark Lord. Luck alone cannot save a person. Not for as long as it has. Power is needed. And Draco is seeing first hand just what power Potter has. Oh yes, Potter is going to win this war. Not only is he too Gryffindor to admit defeat, he has the power and deadliness to back him up. He raises his wand again.

He doesn't move. What is the point? No matter what he does, Potter will come out on top. He always does.

“What are you plotting Malfoy,” Potter asks, still in that same deadly tone.

Draco laughs at that. Typical Potter. How so very fucking typical. What is he plotting? Potter always assumes he is plotting something. He has to be right eventually, doesn't he? “Wouldn't you like to know?” he asks, trying to sound mocking, but sounding more hysterical than not.

“ Yes, so you are going to  _ tell me _ .”

“Or what?”

“Or I'll go to the Headmaster,” he threatens.

Draco laughs even harder. He can't stop. “Go right ahead,” he invites, “be my guest.”

This gives Potter a pause. “Not scared Malfoy?” he asks and Draco hears an echo of his twelve year old self asking Potter the same thing.

“What's the worse the old coot can do? Throw me in Azkaban? At least in there, I'm safe from the slow death the Dark Lord will give me. The Light side doesn't condone torture. Not first hand torture anyways.”

“We don't condone torture at all!”

“No? What do you think will happen to my parents when I'm in prison? Azkaban won't keep _them_ safe. What about Severus? You think he doesn't get tortured on a regular basis for being close to Dumbledore, spy or no? What about the Slytherins the Light side drives straight into the arms of the Dark Lord because no one else will accept them? Because they are evil, so why not join the Cause?” he snorts, bitter, “As if an eleven year old can be evil. What then?” he asks, arms crossed. He dares Potter to defend himself. He _dares_ him.

“What about the Slytherins who enjoy it? How about the Death Eaters who rejoice in the violence and the bloodshed? What about the people _they_ kill?”

“What about the kids who don't have a choice?!” he screams.

Potter is silent for a long moment. “Is that what happened to you? You didn't have a choice?”

“Fuck you Potter,” he replies instead of answering truthfully. Which is an answer in and of itself.

“You didn't did you? He didn't give you a choice. It was either join or die.”

He sounds very sure.

“You don't know anything.”

“I know enough.”

They stare at each other, neither moving, neither giving so much as a blink. Neither backing down.

“Why are you one of Pitch's Malfoy?” Potter asks again.

Draco shrugs, looking away. “He told me no child should fear for their life. I needed him.” He can see Potter nod from the corner of his eye.

“Some of my earliest memories are of Pitch. Any good memory from my childhood usually involves him.”

And isn't _that_ a revelation. The rumors of Prince Potter are just that. Rumors. Draco finds that he still has anger left. He wants to tear anyone who dare abuse Potter apart. Don't they know what they have? He chuckles silently to himself. The sentiment behind these thoughts are not a revelation. He has known for some time, no matter that he could never act on them before. It would not be proper. It was not what was expected of him. Ignore it, just like anything else that doesn't fit the Malfoy image.

But now... Well. If he is going to be dead by the end of the year, no matter what, why not? What more does he have to lose? He walks over to Potter and boldly grabs his wrist. Potter jerks his arm, but he doesn't let go. Nor does he do anything else. He just holds his wrist. No, not the wrist. He holds the bracelet. He sees the exact moment Potter realizes what he is doing. He stops trying to pull away. Potter doesn't move for long minutes, looking at Draco intently. Assessing him. Then he gives a firm nod.

Draco smirks. It may not be what he imagined, but it's a start.

“Pitch's children stick together,” Potter tells him.

And Merlin, that's even more of a start than Draco anticipated. “Together,” he echoes and then smirks. The world won't know what hit it.

Potter smirks in return.

Worth it. However this year ends, he knows this will be worth it.

.

.

.

  
  


From a shadowy corner, a pair of golden eyes watch as two of his children walk away together. Excellent. He laughs silently to himself before fading from view. This will be a show.

  
  
  


 


End file.
